Without Hesitation
A Musketeers story by Deana

My entry in the 'Fête des Mousquetaires' contest for December: Sacrifice!

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If he had to, Aramis would've done it again, even at greater cost to himself. He hadn't hesitated, and the sight that Athos and Porthos had beheld that day would haunt them forever.

The three musketeers had been on their way back from Paris after an errand for Captain Treville, and had been ambushed by horse thieves. They were outnumbered and the four men all rivaled Porthos' size.

Aramis was known for being light on his feet, and sparring with Porthos had given him an advantage that most of the thieves' victims didn't have. He easily held his own for a while, until his opponent viciously head-butted him, making Aramis see stars and fall to the ground. He laid there dazed, until hearing a familiar whinny.

Porthos' horse.

Aramis quickly sat up, ignoring his spinning vision as he jumped to his feet and lunged at the man who was sitting atop Porthos' horse, about to ride it away while pulling his own horse along by its reins. Aramis grabbed the thief's leg as he rode past and yanked, but the man kicked out at the same time, causing the dizzy Aramis to lose his balance.

Athos and Porthos, having defeated their own opponents or driven them away, watched with horror as Aramis fell beneath the hooves of both horses.

Porthos roared with anger and dove at the man, pulling him off the horse and hitting him hard enough to knock him out. He ran to Aramis and reached him seconds after Athos, dropping to his knees. "Aramis!" he exclaimed. There was blood all over the marksman's forehead, dripping onto the grass, and Porthos nearly choked at the thought that his closest friend might be dead.

Athos quickly checked Aramis for a pulse before trying to gently turn him onto his back.

The movement made Aramis show signs of life. "No!" he gasped, resisting.

Athos was surprised that he was conscious, and stopped, leaving him laying on his side. "Where are you hurt?"

Aramis was breathing much too fast, in obvious pain. His eyes were scrunched shut and he didn't answer as he hugged his left arm to his chest.

"Aramis!" Porthos said again, full of anxiety.

"My…wrist…is broken," their injured friend said.

"Can you feel all of your limbs?" Athos asked, unsure if the horses had stepped on his back.

"Yes," Aramis told them.

"Broken ribs?" Athos asked.

"Not…sure," Aramis answered. He was still breathing too fast and his face was rapidly paling as his head continued to bleed.

Athos glanced at Porthos, and Porthos knew exactly what he was asking for; the sack of medical supplies. He stood and fetched it from Aramis' horse.

Athos had a hand on Aramis' right arm, hoping to lend comfort without adding more pain. "I'm going to turn you over, all right?"

Aramis nodded slightly, knowing that he had no choice.

Athos carefully did so, jumping slightly when Aramis gave a cry of pain. He instantly saw why: Aramis' left shoulder was dislocated.

Porthos stared in horror. "How did you not feel that until now?!"

"Shock," Athos commented. He'd been through the same thing a time or two in his life; sustaining an injury and not feeling it right away.

"We gotta put it back," Porthos said.

"Sit him up and get behind him," Athos told him.

Porthos obeyed, sliding an arm under Aramis and pulling him up gently before leaning him back against his chest.

Aramis was trembling from the pain, and submitted when Athos stuck a roll of bandage between his teeth.

Athos picked up Aramis' arm, and without wasting time, popped his shoulder back in.

Aramis gave a cry of pain that was muffled by the cloth, before bonelessly slumping against his friend.

Porthos tightened his grip. "Is he unconscious?"

"Yes," Athos replied as he took the roll of bandage out of Aramis' mouth. He quickly stood and fetched some sticks to use as a splint, before wrapping Aramis' broken wrist. He placed his hand under Aramis' chin and lifted his head, quickly wiping away the blood and finding a deep cut near the middle of his forehead. Quickly, he unrolled Aramis' pouch of tools and dug out a needle and thread before getting right to work.

Porthos' heart sank guiltily at the thought that Aramis was going to have a scar on his forehead for all the world to see...and all because he'd tried to save his horse. He knew how handsome Aramis was considered; he'd won a contest in less than one minute a few months ago when another musketeer—thoroughly drunk during a party—was boasting that the woman he was courting had called him handsome. Another drunken musketeer told him that according to his sister, Aramis was the best-looking man she had ever seen, and he'd jokingly shouted, "Which one of us is handsomest?" The whole garrison had exclaimed, "Aramis!" and Porthos never forgot the sight of his handsome friend blushing. A second later, Porthos was roaring with laughter when Aramis asked, "May I meet your sister?"

Porthos was brought back to the present by a soft moan.

"Not yet, not yet..." Athos said, as he stitched. "Don't let him move!"

Porthos tightened his hold. "Take it easy, Aramis...you're okay. Stay still, or you might get a needle in your eye!"

Athos halted, waiting to see if Aramis was coherent enough to understand.

Aramis groaned, eyes still closed. "What?" he asked.

"Athos is stitching your forehead, don't move," Porthos told him.

"Oh," Aramis groggily answered.

Porthos suddenly felt his friend's body going limp again. "Hey Aramis, say somethin'," he commanded. "Talk to us. Where else are you hurt?"

"Mfph."

"I don't know what language that was supposed to be," Porthos commented. "Could you repeat that?"

"I'm fine."

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Did you hear that, Athos? He's bleeding all over us, but he's fine."

Athos sighed, and the sight of more blood welling from the cut forced him to continue.

Aramis tensed up, wincing as the needle bit into his skin.

Athos tried to make the stitches as small and straight as he could and he did a decent job, considering, fueled by the fact that it was Aramis' face and he'd be forever stuck with the scar.

Porthos had to tighten his hold when Aramis gasped and squirmed. "S'all right, Aramis," he said. "He's almost done."

Athos eventually finished his stitching with a sigh of relief.

"How'ny?" Aramis slurred.

"Twelve," Athos told him, as he wrapped a bandage around his head. Once that was finished, he lifted Aramis' chin. "Where else does it hurt?" he asked.

Aramis' eyes were squeezed shut and he was breathing heavily. He didn't answer.

Athos quickly unbuckled Aramis belts and untied his blue sash before unbuttoning his jacket and pulling up his shirt. There were bruises blossoming over his ribs, but they weren't the shape of a horse's hooves, so they'd likely happened from the force of Aramis hitting the ground. Athos pressed on them and didn't find anything broken, before looking at Porthos. "Move over, I need to check his back."

Porthos nodded and scooted over, holding Aramis up by his right arm. He watched as Athos lifted their friend's shirt, and was overwhelmed with relief to see no marks.

Aramis had been very, very lucky.

Athos pulled Aramis' shirt back down and moved in front of him again. "Aramis," he said, trying to see into his face. "Talk to me."

The pain that spread from Aramis' wrist up into his shoulder was excruciating; he couldn't even catch his breath.

"Aramis," Athos repeated. "Say something!"

"Owww," Aramis gasped.

Porthos frowned, gripping his friend tighter. "Really, Aramis? We're over here thinkin' you're about to die, and all you can say is 'ow'?"

One corner of Aramis' mouth lifted in what was supposed to be a slight grin, but it turned into a grimace. "It hurts," he said, his voice rough.

Porthos sighed, feeling guilty again.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" Athos asked.

Aramis tried to focus on the rest of his body, shifting his legs with a wince. "Just…bruises."

Athos and Porthos both sighed with relief, before Athos noticed sweat trailing down Aramis' face. "Let's get that off you," he said, reaching to unbuckle his pauldron.

Aramis remained motionless as his friend pulled his right arm out his jacket sleeve before stuffing it behind him and carefully peeling it away from his injured left shoulder.

"Hold his arm steady," he told Porthos, who nodded.

Athos slowly pulled the sleeve down Aramis' injured arm, carefully maneuvering it past the splint on his wrist and down his hand.

Aramis bit his bottom lip the whole time.

Athos placed his friend's jacket on the ground before taking the collar of Aramis' shirt and moving it over to see his injured shoulder. There were signs of obvious swelling and the skin was discolored.

Porthos, still behind Aramis, suddenly pulled his friend's collar down in the back. "Athos…" he said.

Athos stood and walked around Aramis, not surprised at what he saw; a deep purple bruise in the shape of a horseshoe over the joint of Aramis' shoulder.

"I take back what I said, Aramis," said Porthos.

"What?" Aramis replied, confused.

"You can say 'ow' all you want!"

Athos picked up Aramis' blue sash. "Before I strap your arm," he said. "You were unconscious when I wrapped your wrist…I wasn't sure how to properly set it."

Porthos' heart sank at those words. Hadn't Aramis been through enough pain just to save his horse?!

Aramis didn't expect to hear that and dizzily hung his head for a moment, as if gathering strength for what he was about to endure. He reached over with his right hand and shakily slid it under his splinted wrist before pulling it close to his chest. "Unwrap it."

Athos obeyed.

"Hold it up," Aramis told him next.

Athos put both hands under Aramis' wrist and hand, enabling Aramis to let go.

Gingerly, Aramis felt for the break in his wrist, finding it in the larger of the two bones. Touching it caused awful pain, making him break into a sweat again. Before he could think about it enough to lose his nerve, Aramis wrapped his hand around his wrist and used his thumb to push on the piece of bone that was sticking up under his skin.

Athos was slightly taken by surprise, not expecting Aramis to do it himself. He kept his grip as Aramis gave a cry of pain and instinctively tried to pull his arm to his chest.

Porthos held onto Aramis tighter as their injured friend tried to curl his body over his arm. "Splint it!" Porthos said to Athos.

Seeing the wisdom in his words, Athos let go with one hand so he could grab the sticks and bandage, and he wrapped it as Aramis sat there breathing heavily again, eyes closed from the awful pain.

Porthos quietly watched, wishing that he could take his friend's hurts onto himself.

After Athos finished with the splint, he took the blue sash and scooped up Aramis' arm in it, before tying it around his neck. He then took the rest of the hanging material and wrapped it around Aramis' body, binding his injured arm to his chest to keep his shoulder immobile. "How does that feel?" he asked.

Aramis reopened his eyes, still breathing fast. He nodded in reply, but said nothing.

Athos stood and fetched a waterskin, bringing it back and holding it to their injured friend's lips.

Aramis drank deeply, coughing a little at the end when he nearly inhaled some.

Porthos shifted from his position behind Aramis and got next to him instead, taking hold of his right arm since Aramis still needed help to remain upright. "Now that it's all over," he said. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Athos looked at Porthos with a frown as he poured water over a piece of cloth.

Aramis blinked. "What?"

"You tried to give your life for my horse!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos reached over and wiped the sweat from Aramis' face. "This is not the time, Porthos," he said.

Aramis closed his eyes with relief at the feel of the cool water. "You love your horse," he weakly said.

Porthos tightened his hold on his friend's arm. "Do you think I love my horse more than you? I'd be sad to lose him, Aramis, but if I lost you, I'd be devastated."

Aramis opened his eyes and looked at him.

"A horse can be replaced," Porthos told him. "But you can't."

Aramis smiled slightly.

The sight of Aramis falling between the horses flashed in Porthos' mind again, and he pulled his friend into a gentle hug, careful not to touch any of his injuries. "Thank you, but don't ever do that again, you hear me?"

"Mmm," Aramis answered, wincing as a wave of pain rolled through him. With a gasp, he leaned his full weight on his friend.

Porthos let him rest against him, rubbing his back absently before suddenly realizing that something was missing...

...the thief.

Athos saw the surprised expression on his face and turned to see that indeed, the thief had regained consciousness and left while they'd tended to Aramis.

Porthos shook his head. It was too late to do anything.

"I'll make camp," Athos said, studying Aramis' ashen skin. "He's not fit to ride."

Porthos nodded.

Athos was quick, and soon, he was pouring some wine into a cup and holding it to their injured friend's face. "Drink, Aramis," he said, hoping that the alcohol would dull some of his pain.

Aramis pulled his head away from Porthos' chest and obeyed, eyes still closed.

Athos fed it to him slowly before putting the cup down and reaching out to move Aramis' hair so he could see his pale face. "Has the pain lessened at all?"

Aramis nodded. It had, slightly, now that they were no longer touching him.

"Do you wish to lie down?" Athos asked.

Aramis would rather not move. "No," he whispered, leaning his head against Porthos again.

Athos nodded, knowing that Porthos would never consider letting go if Aramis was comfortable where he was...or as comfortable as he could be, at least.

The three musketeers stayed there for over an hour as Aramis drifted in and out of awareness. Eventually, he shifted, and Porthos tried to look at his face. "Aramis?"

"Mmm."

"How ya doin'?"

"Alive," Aramis said. He opened his eyes, finding that sunset was approaching. "We need to go."

"Are you sure you can ride?" Athos asked.

Aramis sighed. "I have no choice."

Knowing that he was right, Athos quickly packed their things and he and Porthos gently helped Aramis stand.

The injured musketeer couldn't stop the cry of pain that passed his lips, and his shaking legs refused to hold his weight. The others anticipated that and held on tightly, not letting him fall.

Porthos' horse was standing beside them, and it was a very difficult job getting Aramis mounted. Once he was finally seated, he grasped the pommel of the saddle with his good hand, hunched over and gasping.

Athos and Porthos held onto him from below, and Porthos quickly mounted behind him, wrapping an arm around Aramis' stomach to keep him anchored on the horse.

Aramis' head was spinning. He could feel sweat dripping down his face again, and a light breeze added a shiver to his already-trembling body.

"I gotcha, Aramis," Porthos told him. "Just rest."

Aramis was mostly quiet on the ride back, with an occasional groan slipping free despite his efforts to restrain them. He eventually fell into a half-conscious state, waking suddenly when hands touched him.

"What happened?!" someone suddenly asked. It took a few seconds for Aramis to realize that it was Treville's voice.

"Someone tried to steal my horse and Aramis tried to stop him," Porthos told him. "He fell and was trampled."

"What?!" Treville exclaimed. He turned around and bellowed for someone to fetch a doctor, and the sound reverberated through Aramis' head, making him groan.

"We're home, Aramis," Porthos said, glad that he was awake. "Time to get you down from the horse, all right?"

Aramis opened his eyes slightly, seeing the other two staring at him while they waited for his response. "Yes," was all he had the strength to say.

Athos and the captain carefully pulled Aramis down, holding him up when his knees buckled.

Aramis sucked in a harsh breath as pain spread through his left arm from shoulder to fingers. His head throbbed and he felt faint.

Porthos dismounted and took Aramis from them, carefully lifting him into his arms and carrying him to his room. They laid him on his right side to keep his shoulder from touching anything.

The doctor arrived ten minutes later and praised Athos and Porthos for their care of Aramis, finding his shoulder correctly relocated and his wrist properly set. His ribs were bruised but not broken, and his concussion wasn't severe. Thought Aramis would be in pain for some time, the doctor told them that he should make a complete recovery.

The cut on his forehead would definitely leave a scar.

They already knew that, but it seemed even more final when the doctor said so. Porthos had sighed heavily, feeling guilty, and after the doctor left, they told Treville the story.

"Despite your injuries, Aramis," Treville said. "You were very lucky."

Aramis carefully nodded his aching head, knowing that he could've been killed.

"I still can't believe that you did that," Porthos said to him. "Don't you ever sacrifice yourself for my sake ever again, Aramis!"

Aramis was half-asleep, and gave him a slight smile before drifting off.

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"And that is the story of how he got that scar," Porthos told d'Artagnan, with a sigh. "Every time I look at him, it's a permanent reminder."

D'Artagnan shook his head as he took a drink from the tankard in his hand. "That's terrible." He looked at Aramis. "You could've died over a horse!"

Aramis nodded. "I can't say that I expected to be trampled, but I couldn't just stand there and let that man ride off with it; I reacted completely without hesitation." He looked at Porthos and clapped him on the shoulder. "All for one, right?"

Porthos sighed. "My heart almost gave out when you fell between the horses."

"As did mine," said Athos, downing his fourth or fifth drink.

Aramis nodded. "At least something good came of it, and I don't mean saving the horse."

"What, then?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis leaned over the table a little. "Porthos felt guilty for my scar, feeling that it marred my handsome features, but do you know what really happened?"

"What?"

"Women love it," Aramis said, with a smile, before raising his voice an octave. "Oh my poor Aramis, how did you get that scar?"

Athos rolled his eyes and d'Artagnan laughed.

"And then you tell them some made-up story of how you saved the king's life or somethin'," said Porthos, drinking his own wine.

"No, Porthos, I tell them the truth," Aramis answered. "How I was injured in saving my friend's horse. Sacrificing myself for my friend is more noble than saving the king any day."

Porthos was surprised, and touched. He wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulders and squeezed.

Suddenly, a barmaid walked by and Athos said to her, "May we have more wine, please?"

The girl only had one cup on her tray, and she nodded before placing it down on the table...in front of Aramis.

The others watched her walk off to fetch more, before looking at him.

A bright smile graced Aramis' face. "I told you," he said, pointing to the scar. "This isn't a curse, it's a blessing!" With that, he picked up his tankard of wine and saluted them with it as he drank.

Porthos chuckled.

Athos looked miffed, since he'd been the one to ask for more wine. Looking at d'Artagnan, he said, "That's Aramis," and waited impatiently for the barmaid to return.

THE END